


Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck

by Ozma (OzmatheGreatandTerrible)



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Helga Pataki inspired monologues, Shakespearean Sonnets, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzmatheGreatandTerrible/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: The night Anne cries herself to sleep because she isn't a boy, one boy in particular enters her life in the most romantic way possiblethen abruptly ruins it by comparing her hair to carrots.





	1. Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

A sharp pain awoke her. It took a long, dreadful moment for Anne to remember where she was and why she had cried herself to sleep, even in the face of such beauty.

 _Oh, Snow Queen. If only I were a boy!_ She clutched her throbbing wrist to her heart and the tears began anew.

Throbbing.

Why was her wrist throbbing?

She wiped frantically at her tears and pushed the sheets and blankets away. In the weak morning light, Anne turned her hands over, trembling with hope. A thin, raised scar slanted across the veins of her left wrist. A name. Her soulmate’s name.

“Oh, Snow Queen!” she gasped, as loud as she dared in the stillness of the house that wasn’t hers to love, “The Cuthberts may not want me, but I’m not alone in the world!”

***

She couldn’t sleep again after that. She draped the lacy crochet cover over hear head and opened the window, plucking a branch from the apple blossom tree. She was almost too happy to remember that she would be sent away, back to the asylum. She was Princess Cordelia and the gable room was her tower.

It was still there, a little darker now and fully formed. She clutched it to her heart once more.

A soulmate.

It was the kind of romance her already tragic life longed for.

“What are you doing?” Miss Cuthbert interrupted her imaginings. Princess Cordelia and her bridal toilette were whisked away. “It’s time you were dressed.”

Sheepishly, Anne tried to explain her pretendings. Miss Cuthbert wasn’t interested. Anne dressed as quickly as she could, hesitating only a moment when she adjusted the sleeves of her dress. No. It was odd for someone so young to have a name already. Miss Cuthbert might think her indecent. It would have to remain a carefully guarded secret.

“I was also wishing with all my might that you’d decided that I could stay,” she ventured before the older woman could leave the room.

Marilla Cuthbert, on Anne’s first impression, was stubborn and sour, with no imagination. But the impact of Anne’s honest plea rendered her momentarily soft. Or had Anne only imagined it? She was no stranger to pity and hated it vehemently, but she would have given anything if only the sentimental emotion would awaken in Matthew’s sister.

Fleeting and then gone.

“Pack your things. We’re going to see Mrs. Spancer after breakfast to sort this out.”

Anne traced the pad of her thumb over her wrist for comfort. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to be bitter toward the woman at the breakfast table. The light of a new day – no matter what it might bring – made her cheerful. At worst, she would return to the asylum and would be tormented for a few days about being returned and unwanted. She could handle that. And she wasn’t alone now. What would the others think when they saw it? Having a soulmate was almost better than having a family.

After breakfast she did her best to stay quiet as Ms. Cuthbert drove her to Mrs. Spencer’s to ‘sort out the mistake’. The scenery was more than enough to distract her. Wild pink roses! And Miss Cuthbert provided more distraction by asking about her origins. _Perhaps_ , she thought, reaccounting the tale of the newlywed Shirleys, _she does pity me after all!_ The suspicion was confirmed when they returned to Green Gables together, far away from Mrs. Blewett. Marilla Cuthbert _was_ soft despite her outward stone-faced demeanor!

As soon as she saw Matthew she knew there would be no reason to worry.

***

The troubles started up again just before bed.

“You’ve never said your prayers?” Marilla Cuthbert was scandalized. “Don’t you know it’s a terribly wicked thing to go to bed without saying your prayers?”

“I’m sorry. I was never taught to.” It was true. In the asylum it was too noisy and the daily chores exhausted her to the point of dropping off to sleep as soon as she saw her bed. In her employ, it was been the same. She had never been anyone’s child; there was no reason to look after her earthly soul. The matrons baptized every baby that came through their doors and Anne enjoyed the glory of the catechism, the poetry.

“This isn’t about poetry,” Miss Cuthbert snapped.

Anne did her best, though she was sure it would take a lot more to prove that she was worthy of keeping. As the light of the candle faded from under the door, Anne sent out one last word:

“And I thank thee for this gift, the hope that I’ll have someone special of mine own one day…” she whispered, kissing the name on her wrist.

***

 _My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes._ Her favorite line from a book whose title she couldn’t remember anymore offered no comfort. Anne sobbed heavily into her pillow, furious. Furious with herself. Furious with Mrs. Lynde, of course, but even more with herself.

Marilla was making her a new dress! A sure sign that her place at Green Gables was secured. And yet, she had ruined it. Her vanity destroyed everything. And her pride would not allow her to think of apologizing.

Only Matthew could convince her to swallow it.

“I’m ready to make amends, Marilla,” she announced the next afternoon. Her cheeks were stained with dried tears but she attempted a smile. She held her head up high.

Marilla regarded her wryly but discarded her apron and went to fetch her hat.

Anne did her best to make the apology as flowery and pitiful as possible. Mrs. Lynde was startled, but her words had their effect.

“There, there, child, of course I forgive you.” Inwardly, Anne danced. She had been right in thinking that their neighbor had a flair for the dramatic. “And there may be hope for you yet. A girl I went to school with had hair as red as yours but turned out a nice auburn when she grew up.”

“Oh! Mrs. Lynde! I’ll forever think of you as a benefactress!” she cried with genuine emotion.

And in the coming weeks Anne did endeavor to be polite and the model adoptive child when the woman came around for tea.

One Saturday afternoon as the woman sat shelling peas she noticed something that helped a great deal in endearing Marilla’s friend to her. She was so excited that she was unnaturally silent until they’d finished.

“Mrs. Lynde has a _soulmate_!” Anne exclaimed as soon as she was sure their neighbor was out of earshot.

“Yes, her husband,” Marilla huffed, rising to clear the table.

“It’s positively romantic!” Anne swooned. “What was their courtship like?”

“None of your foolishness,” Marilla chided. “Soulmates are just part of God’s plan.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes, two people are compatible with each other. Nothing compels them to fall in love or even be together. My grandfather had a soulmate and they never met. He lived a perfectly normal and happy life.”

“Still, it’s nice to know that two people could be brought together by fate, that they could be meant for one another,” Anne assured herself out loud as she helped clear the dishes.

“Well, Rachel and her husband are very happy together,” Marilla allowed. “They knew each other in school and were good friends, but their courtship didn’t begin until Rachel was seventeen. They fought often, but ultimately they bring out the best in one another.”

“How old were they when they knew?”

“I don’t remember. Rachel and I both left school early to help our families. In those days a young lady started learning how to manage a household before she’d be old enough to know her fate, if it was God’s plan for her to have a soulmate. Names normally appear in the late teens.”

“Have you…” Anne hesitated. “Have you ever known anyone as young as me who already knew their soulmate’s name?”

“It’s very uncommon.” Marilla looked up from her work. “Dear Lord, child, you don’t…?”

Anne took a deep breath and nodded.

“When?”

“The first night I was here, actually,” she exhaled in relief. “It’s said that if you’re meant to have a soulmate, their name will come to you when you most need them. That night, I needed to know that I wasn’t alone.”

“…May I?” Marilla gestured.

Anne shifted uneasily. “You must promise not to tell a soul about it. _Swear_.”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic.”

“Marilla, please.”

The older woman wiped her hands distractedly on her apron. “I promise I won’t speak of it, but don’t ask me to swear. It’s frightfully wicked to swear.”

Anne pulled her left sleeve up to the elbow. Marilla gasped.

“Do you know him?” Anne asked suddenly. “If you do, don’t say so. I want our first meeting to be spontaneous.”

Marilla took her hand and carefully traced the name with her finger. “Well, I’ll be…” she murmured. “It is very unusual for someone your age, but there it is.”

Anne blushed and took it back. “Can I tell you what I imagine about him?” Marilla stood speechless. “I imagine that he is tall, with beautiful dark hair and strong hands. He doesn’t care that my hair is red or that I have freckles.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Marilla swept up the leftovers.

“He’ll be a kindred spirit,” Anne continued. “And have an imagination to equal my own.”

“Go do your chores!” Marilla snapped, flustered.


	2. Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the plot in the show about Anne being sent back to the asylum, but I didn't want to adapt it, so my version is a lot simpler.

Anne sat stiffly, proper. She murmured a quiet greeting. Mrs. Barry seemed pleasant enough. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Anne being an orphan or been so rude as to ask Marilla about her as if she were invisible. The tea service definitely wasn’t their best, but it was the nicest Anne had ever had set before her. She squirmed a little, hushing her pride. Mrs. Barry had set it out for her! To meet her! And the cake was delicious. Everything was absolutely perfect. Anne was doing her absolute best to make it so.

“Would you like to see our garden?” Diana Barry asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Anne managed.

Marilla gave her a reassuring smile as they excused themselves from the table. Anne returned it nervously and followed Diana.

If there was one thing Anne wanted more than a soulmate, it was a friend. Diana Barry was a princess with dark hair and luck that her mother didn’t put sensibility over fashion.

“Your dress is beautiful,” Anne heard herself say, then blushed and ducked her head.

“Thank you.” Diana smiled a little wider and seemed to relax.

They walked slowly around the garden, Diana trying with little success to get Anne to join the conversation.

“I don’t believe you said two words during tea,” she commented. “You didn’t even remark on the cake. Mother and I made it special. Didn’t you like it?”

“It… was scrumptious,” Anne said, forgetting herself again.

“Scrumptious!” Diana laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. “What a perfect word!”

Anne fell silent, happiness threatening to bubble over. No one had ever reacted to her vocabulary like this before. No one but Matthew.

“Have you always been shy?” Diana prodded.

“I’m less shy than reticent,” Anne returned.

“That’s another 25 cent word!” Diana marveled, her eyes sparkling.

“I…like to read. When I can,” Anne amended.

“Oh, I like reading, too, but mother prefers I do needlepoint.” Diana didn’t sound as though she minded. Anne wasn’t very good at needlepoint.

“Does it provide much scope for the imagination? Needlepoint?”

“Well, I’m not very good at that,” Diana confessed.

“I don’t know what I’d do without mine,” Anne briefly let the horror wash over her. Not being able to rely on her imagination would have made her life an agony. “An utter agony,” she near-whispered.

“ _Agony_!” Diana’s eyes widened. Anne had the sudden urge to drop as many 25 cent words as she knew. Matthew certainly tolerated her prattling, but he didn’t openly enjoy it as much as Diana was starting to.

“I make up stories,” she said.

“Really? I could never do that!” Diana exclaimed, delighted.

They spent the rest of the time in the garden laughing, Anne telling her most recent made up romantic adventure.

“Diana, do you think you could like me?” Anne asked, apprehensive. Laughter was more often than not directed at her. She wasn’t sure if she could distinguish it if it was shared or not.

“I already do!” Diana assured her.

Anne’s heart was fit to burst. It seemed impossible that so many good things were happening to her at once: Green Gables, Matthew, a Soulmate, and now a friend! A real bosom friend!

“We promised to be friends forever,” Anne sighed happily, putting up her hat.

Marilla appeared not to listen, but Anne could tell by her relaxed posture that she was relieved things had gone well. The weight on Anne’s frail shoulders lessened. More than anything, she wanted to be a good daughter, to be part of the family. Marilla didn’t say so, but it was obvious from the incident with Mrs. Lynde that she cared a great deal about what people in Avonlea thought of her.

She happily recounted the day’s events to Matthew at dinner and went to bed thinking of all the things she and Diana would do together. The church picnic was coming up. Anne imagined eating ice cream – the way Diana described it made it sound even better than a chocolate caramel – on a vast picnic blanket, surrounded by happy residents of Avonlea. It would be the perfect way to meet her new classmates before school started again. In her fantasy, she was wearing puffed sleeves, even though the picnic was less than a week away and Marilla would never make her anything fashionable.

* * *

 

Dried tears stained Anne’s face. She rubbed the thin raised scar on her wrist for comfort. The Cuthberts had been arguing for what seemed like hours about whether or not to send her back to the asylum. They must have thought she was asleep.

She had nightmares all that night about riding the train, taking the ferry, returning to the asulym and being welcomed coldly by the matron. A failure.

“I’ll sleep outside. I’ll find a way to go back to where I was born,” Anne whispered. She stroked the name on her wrist. “I’ll go back to Hallifax. Perhaps I still have family there. Family that will be happy to see the Shirley’s poor orphaned daughter.”

It was late when she woke. Too late.

Warily she got out of bed and packed her few belongings.

The argument hit her just as she reached the top of the first landing. It looked as though neither of them had gotten much sleep. Marilla’s thin grey hair was pulled back as usual, but her bun was askew, her dress wrinkled. Matthew’s face was drawn from exhaustion. Marilla held the toasting fork defensivly.

“She’s my daughter!” Matthew protested, his voice cracking with emotion.

Anne dropped her carpetbag.

Both Cuthberts were startled out of their tense standoff.

Anne ran into Matthew’s arms and began to sob.

She didn’t see or care about Marilla’s reaction, but heared her agitated cry and the sound of her footsteps going upstairs.

It was only when she pulled out of the embrace that she noticed Matthrew was crying, too. They laughed weakly together and sat on the same side of the table, picking at the cold eggs and untoasted bread together. Matthew produced the train and ferry ticket from the hall table and threw them in the stove. Anne laughed more and felt fresh tears.

“We should give Marilla some space,” Matthew suggested gently.

Unashamedly, Anne glared at the stairs. She wasn’t sure if anger with Miss Cuthbert would ever dissipate.

“I didn’t steal it, Matthew. I didn’t.”

“I believe you, Anne.”

They went out to the barn. Anne intermittently told Matthew stories she was saving for Diana and helped where she could.

Late in the afternoon Matthew poured them each a cup of fresh milk and went inside to bring back a loaf of bread and some cheese. Matthew reported that Marilla wasn’t speaking with him and suggested that they should all talk.

“I have nothing to say,” Anne insisted definatly. “She doesn’t even want me. Why should we talk if I’ll only make another banishable mistake in the future?” She stroked Belle’s face.

“You should just send me back, Matthew.”

Her heart was breaking. Ever since the first home she’d been placed in she’d learned not to get too attached. Hearing Matthew call her his daughter shattered any emotional walls she’d built.

Reluctantly, she agreed to go inside for dinner.

The table was set nicely. The smell of roast chicken filled the house.

Miss Cuthbert was sitting at the table. Her shawl was laid in her lap, twisted and knotted. On her plate sat the broach.

“I found it in the drawer,” the older woman murmured. “It snagged in the folds of the shawl.”

Anne waited stiffly for the apology that never came, but as the minutes passed and Matthew sank into his chair, she thought that some of Marilla’s emotional walls may have crumbled, as well. The roast chicken was the nicest meal they’d had at Green Gables, and the china was much nicer than the usual plates.

“Would you tell me the story about how it came into the family?” she asked.

Marilla’s frame relaxed and she managed a smile, recognizing the opportunity to apologize.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she began.

* * *

 

Anne slept better that night, but her fears and anxiety about Miss Cuthbert’s feelings didn’t go away until the church picnic a few days later.

Somehow, word of the mistake had gotten around. Anne wanted to blame Mrs. Lynde, but she seemed very happy to see her at the picnic and even introduced her to her husband Thomas. Her name was on his wrist and it gave Anne a thrill to see them both side by side.

The worst part of the day was the Barry’s reaction to her approaching their blanket. Diana greeted her too formally, though it was clear that she wanted to be friends. No one else showed her any friendly gesture, but Marilla introduced her as their daughter to everyone, even though Anne could feel her becoming more and more agitated at the cold reception of her words. It was more than enough to prove that she had found forever at Green Gables.

And the ice cream was scrumptious.

* * *

 

Anne felt drab and small. Her slate pencil faltered on her slate. She was an excellent reader, but math was foreign to her. She thought back to the room Diana had shown her that morning. How embarrassing it would be to have to sit in there with the younger children! If only she had puffed sleeves like the other girls. The dress she was wearing now was new, made especially for school, but the lack of any fashionable design sapped any confidence she’d had that morning as she entered the schoolhouse.

During lunch she finally had the opportunity to talk freely without being scolded for it, but the other girls, who’d initially seemed interested in her knowledge of how babies are made, were immediately shocked and disgusted.

Anne was confused. Living with the Hammonds, intimate acts had been a regular occurrence, even when Mrs. Hammond was less than happy about performing her duty as wife. Even Diana reacted strangely to the conversation, running off under the pretense that she would see if she couldn’t change their friends’ minds.

Anne walked home with a heavy heart and a headache of numbers. She went straight up to her room and glared at her slate. Problems with the girls aside, she needed to master long division if she hoped to stay in the same classroom as them. She was sure to be ostracized further if she had to squeeze into the small desks in the lower class.

Kissing the name on her wrist for luck, she wrote out a problem from her workbook and set to studying.


	3. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: PART ONE

Anne set out for school that day in low spirits. Matthew and Marilla had been up most of the night talking again, arguing in low voices. Anne was sure this time that they weren’t talking about sending her away. They seemed to be cautious around her; Marilla was unusually kind and watchful of her that morning.

The landscape was starting to fall asleep. Anne’s boots picked up mud as she went. She was grateful for the shawl wrapped tightly around her chest. She started to imagine that she was Princess Cordelia, travelling to a foreign place to make an important alliance. Her potential allies already didn’t like her. She was walking to a court of people who would whisper behind her back and impede her from completing her diplomatic mission.

 _Crunch_.

Anne snapped out of her imaginings, cruelly thrust back into reality and the face of her problems. Billy Andrews’s face.

Anne was used to being teased. Bullied. How many times had the other girls at the orphanage locked her in the cellar or stolen her few belongings to throw them into the pond or the fire? How many times had they waved dead mice in her face or forced her hands into snake burrows until she cried? Girls could be cruel. But Billy was a boy, and she wasn’t used to being called nasty things by boys. Billy could beat her up if he wanted, and she could feel it, how much he wanted.

His words were starting to meld together, echoing. Her blood was pounding in her ears, and her legs felt weak even though she was fighting internally, trying to get them to move, to run.

“Hey, Billy.”

The voice that cut through the brisk autumn air instantly calmed her.

Out of the trees ahead of them another boy appeared. His voice was hoarse in the way boys’ voices were as they started to change and he was taller than Billy, more clever. He hedged his words as though making a move in chess.

“… alright, Blythe,” Billy conceded, stepping away.

Blythe!

 _Gilbert_ Blythe!

Anne’s wrist burned and tingled as she ducked down and hastily gathered up her books.

“…You alright, Miss?” her soulmate inquired. “Need anything else? Any dragons around here need slaying?”

“No, thank you!” she called hastily behind her back. She could feel her face burning. Oh, he was clever! He was fully aware that he’d looked heroic to her and was pushing just to tease!

Outside the schoolhouse door she finally felt her emotions settle. She took a deep breath and turned to face the boy – Gilbert, her soulmate – who’d been following her the whole way.

“I’m sorry if I was rude. I’m Anne.”

She waited to see if her name mean anything to him, but nothing registered in his face. He held out his hand for her to shake.

“Gilbert,” he returned, smiling. He really was a handsome boy. Anne had never thought much of boys, but this one had hair as black as Diana’s, and he was kind enough. He held the door open for her and started to ask her something, but was ambushed immediately by every other boy in the room, doubtless they’d been alerted of his arrival by Billy.

The girls, however, stared. Not just at him – though now Anne remembered how Diana had called him dreamy that first day, remembered how her heart had jumped a little when her bosom friend said his name, not knowing what it meant to Anne.

The girls were staring at her.

It wasn’t the stare of disgust they’d worn the day before when Anne talked about Mr. Hammond’s pet mouse. Ruby’s eyes were beginning to water and Josie looked almost angry.

Anne’s flight response – delayed earlier in the woods – kicked in, and she ran out the door, but not before she heard someone ask Gilbert why he’d been walking with an orphan.

“Who cares where she’s from?” Gilbert’s words floated out the door behind her and she whimpered quietly, tortured by every emotion tearing her apart. There was no way he knew who she was, yet…

“What were you doing walking with Gilbert Blythe?” Josie demanded.

Anne’s jaw went slack. “I – I didn’t mean to –“ she began.

“Ruby has liked him for three years,” Josie hissed. “She’s got dibs.”

Anne felt cold.

“There, there, that nasty girl didn’t know any better,” Josie soothed Ruby. The other girls stood stone faced.

“He was _kind_ to me!” Anne heard herself say. She realized that her hands were fisted so tight that her nails were cutting into her palms. “He doesn’t care that I’m an orphan. He’s a kind person! How _dare_ you shame me for _walking_ with him.”

Josie blinked.

“Anne,” Diana said gently, “Don’t be upset. It’s just that you’ve hurt Ruby’s feelings.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Anne said, as calmly as possible. “I’m sorry,” she faced Ruby. “I can see why you like him.”

She marched back into the classroom and sat at her desk, ramrod straight.

“I don’t think I can do anything to smooth this over…” Diana murmured, more to herself than to Anne.

“Don’t fret, Diana,” Anne assured her. “I don’t care if Josie Pye doesn’t approve of me, even if that means the other girls won’t be my friend.” Neither of them said what Anne was dreading, that if she was set on being a social pariah, Diana would have to choose.

 _If Diana doesn’t’ desert me_ , Anne promised herself, _I can tell her my secret_.

* * *

 

Their reading lesson that day was enjoyable. Anne let herself get carried away with her recitation and pointedly ignored Josie’s giggles. Josie Pye had _no_ imagination and wasn’t worth worrying over.

Still, it was lonely, sitting by herself at lunch. Diana watched her from the window and appeared to be trying to get the other girls to forgive her, but it was going very slowly. At least Anne didn’t have to worry about having the right lunch or having her snacks portioned to share.

“Hey, um, I, um, thought you might like to try one? They’re from our orchard. They’re real sweet.”

Gilbert held out a deep redpurple plum.

Anne shot to her feet, glancing nervously at the window. The girls were staring again. Gilbert looked, too, and they scattered. Anne repressed a laugh.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Is it okay if I share it with Diana?”

Gilbert pressed it into her palm, smiling. “Is she your friend? Why isn’t she out here with you?”

“I just needed to be alone for a minute. Thank you for the fruit. It cheered me up.”

He smiled and bowed clumsily. “Pleased to be of service, my lady.”

* * *

 

The plum was sweet. Anne closed her eyes and savored it, not minding what Diana was saying.

“Anne!” her friend whined. “You shouldn’t be so nice to Gilbert. Josie says – “

“I don’t care what Josie Pye says,” Anne reminded her, reminded herself. Of course she would hate it if Diana decided they couldn’t be friends, and it stung, not having friends after starting to get acquainted with the girls. Jane was nice, and so was Tillie. Although Jane wasn’t as nice after everything that happened with Prissy.

“I was right, though, wasn’t I? Gilbert is dreamy.”

“He’s a nice boy,” Anne admitted. “Moody is nice, too, but Gilbert is cleverer.” She’d watched him out of the corner of her eye earlier. He wrote easily and seemed very studious.

“He’s used to being at the top of the class,” Diana warned. “You’ll have some competition now.”

* * *

 

Anne entered the kitchen that afternoon in a silent stupor. Her books hung limply from their strap.

“Whatever is the matter?” Marilla demanded.

“I’ve… I’ve met him,” Anne near-whispered.

“ _Him_?”

“There has to be a mistake, Marilla,” she suddenly cried. “There’s _no_ way _Gilbert Blythe_ could be my _soulmate_!”

“Whyever not? Was he unkind to you?” Panic was beginning to set in. Perhaps home schooling _would_ be in the girl’s best interest. The world was too harsh a place for someone with her sensitive heart. It had been harsh enough already.

“Oh, he’s the most perfect boy that ever _lived_!” Anne groaned.

Marilla felt tension sweep out from under her and annoyance building behind her eyes. A headache.

“I never had much experience with boys before school here,” Anne continued, “I was beginning to lose hope. But Gilbert is clever and kind and – “ her face melted into a horrified expression. “Marilla! This is a _disaster_!”

“Please save your dramatics and thank God, for it could have been a lot worse,” Marilla thrust a basket of onions and celery into her arms.

Anne dutifully washed them and prepared them for soup. Marilla was right. Still, it was unsettling. She’d only known her soulmate less than a day and already he was invading her every thought. _O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight;_.

“Anne!” Marilla warned. “You’ll cut yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wished Anne had spoken up for herself more. I get why she didn't; she'd never had friends before and it was important to her to fit in.


	4. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: PART TWO

Math was by far Anne’s worst subject. No scope for the imagination. The whole room was filled with the hard, short tapping of chalk on slates. Anne didn’t notice that Gilbert had left his seat until he was right beside her. She didn’t understand why he was trying to befriend her. Unless. Was her name already on his wrist? It would be an anomaly rarer than hers.

Still, she kept her eyes firmly forward. She had no desire to attract Mr. Phillips’s attention or incur the wrath of the girls. They’d become suspicious if she showed any interest in him at all.

Gilbert reached for her. Anne panicked but didn’t move.

He tugged at her braid. “Carrots,” he whispered.

Anne’s heart broke and her anger flared at once. In a moment, she was on her feet and had flung her slate – crack! – across Gilbert’s face.

The whole classroom was still.

Anne gaped, shocked. Her anger was still there, but shame was building up. How could she!

“Shirley!” Mr. Phillips barked. “To the front.”

Anne was too upset and conflicted to do anything but stand there until she couldn’t bear it. Gilbert spoke up, but she couldn’t understand a word. The room had begun to spin and and sounds echoed weirdly in her ears. Mr. Phillips had written ‘Ann’. Plain, undignified ‘Ann’. ‘Ann Shirley needs to learn to control her temper’.

And suddenly she was running.

***

The first day Anne was absent felt hollow.

Gilbert had teased girls before. One spring, for a whole week, he’d entertained an exciting flirtation with Diana Barry that mostly consisted of him throwing sticks at her during lunch hour and writing her name on the board in increasingly horrible and incorrect spellings. But that had been before his father fell ill.

Slowly, he grew out of teasing girls and became more somber, devoting himself to his studies. He’d always been clever, but by the first days of summer he was head of the class. It was a victory. His father had been proud.

For a few weeks Gilbert thought his health was improving. On one of the warmest days of summer it turned for the worst.

The trip to the mountains and the seaside were supposed to help. There were points when his father seemed to breathe better, but as autumn approached he reached out. “Son, take me home.” He didn’t voice what they both knew. John, forever a traveler, couldn’t die away from home, away from Avonlea.

He insisted that Gilbert go back to school. He wanted things to be as normal as possible.

Gilbert didn’t think normal would ever be possible again.

And then he’d met Anne.

She was… different.

Not just because she wore her hair differently or dressed more modestly.

She carried herself differently. Her chin stuck out with a measure of pride when she spoke. She spoke out. Her shyness was genuine and careful, her temper quick to ignite. Gilbert was angry with himself for teasing her, for pulling her hair. It was so immature. It was so unlike his new, somber persona. Anne had made him feel excited and childish again.

In the days she was gone he heard things about her. How outspoken she was, how unladylike… whatever that meant. Few had anything good to say about her. While he felt some relief at knowing his actions in particular weren’t responsible for her quitting the schoolhouse, he also felt heartsick. When the other boys told him that she was an orphan, he knew that they were judging her prematurely. Misunderstanding her.

He stole a glance over at the empty seat beside Diana Barry. She smiled apologetically at him. He was surprised that she recognized the kinship they now shared in missing her.

Anne.

He frowned at his slate.

He’d never felt this way about a girl before.

He should feel excitement building up and a nervous heat stinging his cheeks. Instead, he could only feel concern. He hoped that she could forgive him.

***

Boredom was not Anne’s friend.

Up until now she’d never known it. There had always been work to do. In between there had been dark times where she belonged to no one and had only her imagination to fill the hours.

She loved Green Gables.

But her imagination was being stretched thin to fill the time between chores now and as much as she hated them, she couldn’t be bitter about having a home and being a member of a family with responsibilities.

Sometimes, she itched to go back. Gilbert’s name on her wrist burned and she wondered if he was thinking of her.

“Anne!”

She snapped out of her imaginings of accepting Gilbert’s sincere apologies. The kitchen was filled with smoke.

The pie!

***

Anne leaned against the wall of her makeshift schoolhouse, soaking in the solitude. She’d wanted so badly to go back to school, but Marilla’s ire had driven her away from that longing.

 _I can’t help being so stubborn_ , she mourned as she gathered up her things and the books she’d borrowed from the sitting room. As she made her way back home she mentally drilled herself on all the things she was meant to have learnt that day.

It was exhausting.

And she missed Diana terribly. Since leaving school, she’d only been able to see her friend once. It had almost been enough to weaken her resolve. Especially when her friend mentioned that they would be studying poetry as their next literature unit.

“We have to choose poems to recite in front of everyone!” Diana complained. “It would be so much better with you there…”

The most Anne could do was promise that she’d help Diana pick something for her recitation.

Unfortunately, poetry was not part of the Cuthbert family library. Anne made do with paper and ink and her steadfast memory of the classics. By noon on the third day in her makeshift schoolhouse, she’d exhausted her resources and picked out something simple and elegant for her friend.

She walked home deciding what she should have picked if she was still in school.

Shakespeare.

Most decidedly. A sonnet that reflected her inner turmoil and the romantic tragedy that was her life before Green Gables.

“Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck…” she murmured as she crossed the yard. Belle whinnied her greeting from the stable. Anne smiled softly. It was good to be home. She hefted the weight of the borrowed books in her arms. She should be grateful that she had the things she had. And yet, keeping up this lie was making her uneasy.

When she entered the house, she realized that her state of unease had not gone unnoticed. Marilla’s face was stone, and the minister was waiting in their sitting room, but it was Matthew’s disappointed face that made her break down and confess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and nice comments!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the work and chapter 1 are from Shakespeare's Sonnet 14.  
> Chapter 2 is from Sonnet 148  
> Chapter 3-5 are from Sonnet 18


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